


From Ashes, He Rises

by red_sky



Category: Spartacus: Vengeance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-29
Updated: 2012-04-29
Packaged: 2017-11-04 12:24:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_sky/pseuds/red_sky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is a heavy thing, to live enough for two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Ashes, He Rises

**Author's Note:**

> Because the idea of Nasir going on without Agron makes me feel dead inside while simultaneously giving me all the feels.

He used to categorize his life into one of two categories; before Agron, after Agron. Before Agron does not bear repeating, years spent empty and without spirit as fleeting as the few, scant memories he holds of his brother. Before Agron there was Tiberius, the pretty little bird with no thought, no will, no voice. Tiberius, a name now foreign, lying beneath the corpses of those who named him so. He does not think of Tiberius any longer, nor does he think of the villa, of the dominus, of the collar that chafed his neck in the beginning but melted until it became flesh. Before Agron…it is a time that became hazy with each passing day, until it became a time that belonged to another. Before Agron holds no weight, no meaning or consequence. 

After Agron is a life that he had not dared to think of, let alone hope and prepare for. After Agron there was Nasir, the wild little dog ripe with potential that first reclaimed his voice with a hiss. Nasir, a name that would have been spoken with pride by the one who called him such. With each passing day, he could unravel who Nasir was, what Nasir stood for, what Nasir would fight for. After Agron… it is a life that fell upon him. By chance, by fate, by the will of the Gods, it matters not. For it came, and he would not raise question against such fortune. 

Yet it never dawned on him that just as there was life before Agron and life after Agron, there would be life _without_ Agron as well. 

 

He had always thought, perhaps arrogantly, that he and Agron would fall together, and walk with each other into the afterlife with light steps and lighter hearts towards the freedom they battled so fiercely for. 

Tiberius would have taken ill at the sight of the blood, the twisted and perverse of Agron’s fallen body against the ground. Tiberius would have run and sought shelter, shielding eyes from horror and nose from stench. Tiberius would have run and run until knees buckled and he fell upon Roman blade.

Nasir would have fallen to his knees, remained huddled against the Earth to hold Agron as he moved onto safer planes. Nasir would have beseeched the Gods, begging for life not his own to be spared. Nasir would have remained forever, intent on staying with Agron until body gave up fight and joined his beloved.

But he did neither. He did not see Agron fall in time, but his sword punctured Roman heart before Agron hit the ground. He does not scream to the Heavens and plead for the Gods to hear words that he has always known have fallen on deaf ears. Once the Roman army lays defeated, he lifts his eyes to meet his brothers, and without spoken demand, they gather round Agron and lift him from the ground so that he does not rest near those that enslaved him. Agron is sent off to the afterlife by his kin, both by heritage and brand, by his heart that does not turn away even as the flames rise higher.

 

His heart does not turn to vengeance after that night. It wants to, it yearns to, yet it does not. They have all lost, and they have all made sacrifices. Agron told him this once, and despite how much he burns for revenge, he knows this to remain a truth. His pain and his loss does not hold higher regard than the safety of those that he still stands with, nor does it hold higher regard than the cause itself. Agron passed with steadfast devotion to freedom in his chest, and so he will do the same. He will breathe and die with the word upon his lips, just as Agron had. But while his heart does not weep openly for all to see, it grieves quietly, and it does not move on despite gentle pleas for it to do so. He is forever stained with grief’s noose clasped tightly around his neck, and it pains him far more than the wound in his side ever did.

His steps are purposeful, though, as he fights in honor of Agron’s death. His hands are steady, though, as he tears the collars, both made of cloth and something invisible, from the necks of future soldiers in honor of Agron’s life. His mind remains focused as he and Spartacus lead free men and women to tear down the walls of Rome in honor of Agron, of Mira, of Oenomaus, of Spartacus’ wife, of Chadara, of all those who have fallen before them and those that will fall after them.   
If life without Agron is something he must bear, then he will act as Agron’s hands to strike down the monsters of the world. He will act as Agron’s eyes so that Agron may watch Rome burn from the afterlife.

 

Sometimes, when sun has set and exhausted bodies lay down for a moment of reprieve, he closes his eyes so that he may hear whispers of Agron’s voice, of his laugh, of the way he would whisper words of love that had been foreign to Tiberius, but that Nasir had become accustomed to. He closes his eyes so that he may see the dimples in Agron’s cheeks when he smiled, feel the calluses on Agron’s hands splayed across his chest, the weight of his legs pressed tightly against his hips. _It is a heavy thing to bear, to a rob man of life_ , Agron had said. Yet it is a heavy thing to bear, to live enough for two.

Tiberius would have crumbled at the mere notion of carrying such weight. And Nasir would have tried, and would have held tongue at the pressure, but would have fallen as well. Both are gone, the favored body slave and the wild little dog, and what remains is the beast that bears their faces, that instead of claws bears fangs that sink deep into Rome’s throat. 

But he will not fall, in spite of protest from body, mind, and soul. He will stand until the Gods deny him the privilege, and when time comes, he will move on to claim his reward. Until that time, though, he will dream of it with a seldom seen smile on his face reminiscent of the smiles Agron would draw from his lips.

 

Life without Agron is a life he would have never chosen.

But it is _his_ , and that is enough.


End file.
